Unexpected Threesome Ch. 53

So I excused myself, went over to where Ellen and Greg were sitting, and joined them; needing to ask Greg to shove along a little to make a space for me just big enough to sit if I pushed myself hard up against Greg as he in turn found himself in close contact with Ellen.

I don't think he minded.

I knew Greg was a year or two older than me, not lacking in the looks department and our interactions to date had left a pretty good impression. So I figured it was time to get to know him a little better.

As we sat there chatting for about half an hour, we were joined by a number of the other slightly older TP52 guys; but most noticeably by another of them that I wanted to get to know better; someone who's name I found to be Ian.

Which presented me with a bit of a conundrum. Certainly I wanted to get to know these guys better at an intellectual level. That was something I could do within a small group setting well enough, even if I did cut them out for some one on one conversations from time to time.

But I also wanted to test my body's physical reaction to them. With Frank, my abusive partner, I never once had an orgasm in the ten years I was with him. With Ned, my body is like a nymphomaniac's orgasm factory; mass producing them and the overwhelming desire for more. So the reasonable question I want to explore is whether Frank's abuse of me stopped them, there's something about Ned that I react to in an extreme way or I just have a very responsive body and any reasonably nice, considerate and sexy male can do for me both emotionally and physically what Ned does.

In a way, Ellen's words of missing fucking Ned goes to the core of it. Ellen's in a very loving marriage, notwithstanding her pains of denial of Ned's attentions. But there was an imperative for her to move on from Ned because of her desire to have children. Something in my past has completely blocked that desire, so I have no such imperative.

So I need to understand just what I'm giving up in chasing a supposedly more age appropriate male.

But while having sequential intimate conversations is perfectly reasonable, having sequential intimate physical contact tends not to be viewed by others as such; more so if you decide you want to go back to the one you started with. And this at a point I don't even know what 'intimate physical contact' will be. It could be anything from a pash on a sunlounge to a night of wild sex. I'm just not sure how far I'm willing to go.

Maybe that's the one problem with Rumspringa. I have to compress stuff that might take month to evolve normally into a few days.

The morning passed pleasantly enough. No, that's an understatement. It was very pleasant.

The conversation flowed easily and, as the circle of conversation reduced down to Ellen, Harry, Ian, Greg and myself, and the seating arrangements moved about as someone or other went to top up the refreshment supplies, I soon found myself squeezed between Ian and Greg.

By late morning I'd had a cocktail or two and was aware my inhibitions were reduced enough that I found myself evaluating the two guys for their effect on me. I was somewhat aroused by their presence and by their increasingly handsieness. And by that I mean their inhibitions were reduced too and the close sitting arrangements were letting them justify having their hands and arms all over me like a rash.

I had Ian's arm around my back and over my shoulder stretching itself down to fondle the top of my breast and Greg's on my thigh, sneaking ever closer to the gusset of my bikini pants. Squeezed between the two, my own arms and hands had little place to go except on the guys' thighs and the way Greg's arm crossed over mine had my hand already pushing up the leg of his board shorts as my glass rested on Ian's thigh, chilling his leg.

The day was getting quite hot. When one of the two person inflatable swans that were distributed around the pool for the use of the party goers became free, I stood up and, taking my drink, hurried towards it, looking back over my shoulder as I called in their general direction...

"Let's grab that swan in the pool."

I eased myself into the water and waded chest deep towards it, grabbing it by the neck as Ian and Greg followed. When they reached me, Ian held my drink while they combined to hoist me inelegantly onto it; Ian's one handed assistance coming through a full crotch grope push.

I then kneeled in the centre of it, holding all three drinks with my arms around the swans elevated head as, with a lot of flopping about as the flimsy inflatable swan bent and tipped under their weight, the boys followed me aboard.

They settled themselves into the two intended seating positions, their lower legs out the side of the swan's head and their heads resting on an inflated life ring thrown over the elevated tail as their shoulders met at the tail.

Passing them back their drinks and having Ian hold mine, that left me trying to find a way to sit between them. After at least once falling across Greg's torso and feeling the bulge and hardness of a semi erection in his loose fitting pants, it soon became evident that the only alternative left to me was to sit facing them, with my back against the swan's neck and my legs spread wide across their torsos; hardly lady like but not entirely inappropriate to my intentions for the day.

As I settled in and reclaimed my drink, I took stock of the position I'd put myself in.

Now my bikini was wet, the tiny triangles of my top were plastered to the raised areolas and nipples that project even at rest, but project much further with every increase in my arousal; their darker colour clearly showing through the material. Just as revealing, the small front piece of my pants was plastered to the prominent mons bulge of mine that Ned finds so sexually compelling, the crease running down the front of it clearly distinguished both my the darker colour of a shadowy valley and a recess in the material. A recess wide enough to suggest more than a modicum of arousal on my part to compliment the nipple display.

Added to generous displays of underboob, side boob and cleavage from my small bikini triangles, and a fair display of mons flesh -- and even, given they were looking straight up between my legs, strips of exposed crotch flesh - out the side of skinny front and gusset of my bikini pants, I was well aware I was displaying what Ned calls extremely provocative sexuality. The sort that, as is my intention with him, can cause Ned to jump me and all but root the arse off me in a state of uncontrolled arousal.

Ned says the tease factor it generates makes it way more provocative than full nudity. I know it makes me feel sexy -- which is why I have a fetish for bikini sex -- but I can only take Ned's word for that. Oh, and the fact they're such cum catchers. Not mine so much because Ned is kept well drained by my sexual demands. But Ellen and Shelley certainly find their bikinis getting jizzed all over during foreplay as a regular occurrence.

Now I was unleashing it on two relatively unknown males. Not necessarily with the same intent, but certainly with the knowledge of the effect it can have on men.

A practical question was how far apart to spread my legs. A narrow -- although still very revealing -- spread would have the back of my ankles resting -- indeed digging into -- their chests near their outside armpits or under their shoulder bones. A wide one would have my legs crossing over their board shorts and my feet resting on the side of the swan near their stomachs; more comfortable for them no doubt and probably preferred with the view it would offer.

I started with the narrower one.

But even that pose gave them more than enough justification to rest their hands on my upper thigh. And ordinary, comfortable, ergonomics left my hands resting on their board shorts just outside my outer thighs.

And while the guys' board shorts might have been loose fitting, the wet, very light, stretchy material and the fact they clearly didn't having anything on underneath, meant as it settled wet under gravity it highlighted quite well what lay below it. Maybe not in the way the arousal inducing sight of Ned in his speedos does with every detail stretch moulded into the material, but enough to clearly delineate their state of arousal, the length and diameter of their cock and give some idea of its hardness.

And that was before you allowed for the fact their cocks were caught between the side of my thighs and the side of my hand rested against it; as was almost impossible to avoid the latter if I wasn't to hold my hand unnaturally off their bodies for the rest of the day.

Greg had started off fairly aroused and I glanced down from time to time to let my eyes confirm what my hand was telling me. He slowly grew a full boner; the tip of it only just covered by the waistband of his boardies. Ian seemed a bit more under control. There was certainly a significant bulge and I could feel a degree of hardness, but he hadn't completely lost it like Greg had.

Pretending nothing was out of the ordinary, we chatted for about half an hour until the three of us found ourselves holding empty cocktail glasses.

I personally had been more than a little distracted by the sight of Liddy, taking advantage of having him to herself, cuddled up against Ned on the sun lounge; her back resting against his chest, her head over his shoulder, his legs spread around hers and his arms embracing her in a way that left his hands resting on the waistband of her low slung bikini pants.

It wasn't jealously I felt, just a modicum of envy and a longing; a longing to be where she was. It certainly took away from my absorbing any sexual feelings I might have had for the guys who were all but fingering my crotch and whether any arousal I felt -- because I certainly felt some -- was due more to the sight of Ned or to the pair of young, strong male bodies my legs were draped over was not easily determined.

But with three empty glasses came a suggestion we paddle over to the wet bar for a refill. An awkward, somewhat directionally unstable trip it was too, with Greg nearly rolling off the swan as our stability was challenged by the failure of the three of us to coordinate our movements, his recovery entailing what I will accept was an involuntary firm grab of my thigh so high up it was as much a grab of my pussy.

Ian paid for mine using the mobile phone he kept in a waterproof pouch around his neck; Greg charging his to his room.

But as we paddled away from the counter, we didn't end up where we set out from; instead drifting into a quiet corner of the pool. More to the point, it was one where I could no longer see Ned.

The third cocktail was starting to affect all of our inhibitions; but probably mine more than the others.

The conversation was all over the place, always amusing, increasingly laugh out loud so, even if in a slightly drunken way. But it also often strayed into sexual innuendo and playfulness. My right, cocktail holding hand was no longer just brushing Greg's erection, but blatantly resting on it; and then teasing it as I stroked my fingers up and down it. And Greg figured that give him licence to push the back of his finger into my crease and gently move it up and down too.

I knew I was aroused. Quite a lot. And my body was betraying me by showing all the visual signs of it. Projecting nipples in a wet bikini top can have more than one cause. A wide open crease running through the gusset of your bikini pants; not just visible as a dark area through the semitransparent material, but highlighted by the way the material was sucked into the valley? Well, that only has one cause.

The back of Greg's finger was rubbing itself against quite a firm little bud, and he knew it.

And having found that resting my ankles on their upper chest decidedly uncomfortable for both me and them, my legs were now spread wide apart across their stomachs in a way that slipped under the projections of their erections in their pants and lifted them up to rest on my outer thigh. I hadn't intended to do that. But as I slid down it was either a case of letting them ride over my thigh, or lifting my leg and crushing them underneath.

In retrospect, I should have lifted my legs and left them underneath. They were a bit obvious.

In Ian's case, my action had captured the waistband of his boardies as I lifted them, letting the waistband wrap safely around the tip. In Greg's case it hadn't. The tip was only just covered by the waistband; the very tip teasingly visible to me as its bare flesh rested on my thigh, the waistband struggling to follow the curves necessary to go up over his shaft and then bend down around my thigh.

It was quite clear it would only take the slightest extra movement of my thigh to pop his erection out of its covering and let the waist band straighten itself out, leaving the top two thirds of his erection fully exposed.

Of course there was something quite tart like about what I'd done. The display they now had was blatantly sexual. It would have been in any swimwear, but in the bikini pants I had on I knew the stretched apart legs and my state of arousal meant my labia were only just covered by the leg elastic of my pants and would be looking as though they might be exposed by the slightest provocation; a provocation I was sure Greg and his roving fingers would be more than happy to provide.

But I also knew I wasn't aroused in the way I would be with Ned in the same situation. If it was Ned doing what Greg was doing, my body would be pumping out a flood of juices and I'd be holding myself back from jumping him and getting a good root. What I was feeling was nice, but it wasn't anything like that.

Familiarisation breeds contempt, or in this case just lowers inhibitions. My right hand, with the cocktail glass in it, had been resting on Greg's erection on and off for a while now and the back of his finger had been touching up my clit. So it seemed -- in my somewhat inebriated state - not all that bold to stroke his erection with my finger as my hand rested on it. Almost absent mindedly as the three of us chatted and carried on.

From time to time Greg's and my eyes would meet with raised eyebrows and a grin, recognising our naughtiness. And although it was inadvertent, the stroking of my finger had slowly pulled down his waistband and revealed the tip of his erection resting on my thigh; visible to me, even if it wasn't to Ian or Greg.

The conversation had turned from other matters to the TP52 yachts the boys sailed on; discussing their speed, lightness and the demands of their sail handling. So maybe a little more serious, even if the boys took the opportunity to boast of their sailing skills and the demands of the boat.

It was all going well until I sensed Greg sort of freeze. I looked down and saw the bell of Greg's swell up. The next thing I knew was I felt and saw Greg's cum squirting over my thigh. He flushed red in the face and sort of 'accidently' - by which I mean he put on a very unconvincing display of an accident -- rolled off the swan into the water where he no doubt pumped out whatever cum hadn't been left on my leg.

His departure had been violent enough I suspected he had tried to throw us all into the water; maybe in the forlorn hope that I hadn't seen his discharge. He failed on both accounts. There was no way I was going to spill the residue of my cocktail because he'd got too excited.

He remerged to hang off the side of the swan, paddling in the water. From there he looked up at me sheepishly as he splashed water over my thigh, trying to wash off the mess he'd left.

Whether Ian was aware of what happened I didn't know and was hardly going to ask. I suspected not because his only comment to Greg as he rested against the side on the swan was...

"You had a bit too much to drink there mate?"

For a while Greg continued to hang off the swan; his one attempt to reboard so clumsy he did nearly tip us in. And there things might have stayed if an attractive young lady called Cath -- someone who'd been hanging around the TP52 guys and seemed to be some sort of friend to many of them -- didn't swim up and, after a brief joining in of the conversation, managed to persuade Greg to have a drink with her.

Ian didn't miss a beat. Having me alone, he asked...

"Would you like a tour of the boat?"

On the one hand, getting a guided tour of a yacht like Ian's TP52 was something of a wish. On the other hand, I wasn't stupid enough to ignore the fact this could well be a ploy to get me somewhere private where we could make out in one way or another.

There'd already been enough sexual foreplay and teasing between us to make that a near certainty. In a way, that's what I was here for. I just hoped I had the strength Julie showed in controlling the situation.

"Sure. I'll go and get my gear."

By which I meant my dress and thongs from where I'd left them near where Ned was last sitting.

"No need. It's only a short walk and we won't be long."

It was about a 500 meter walk from the pool area, over the steep hill dividing the beach from the marina, to the jetty where the yacht had one of the premium berths reserved for this sort of boat. Ian hadn't made any attempt to go back to where we'd left our gear to add anything to the wet boardies he was wearing and, spending as much of my life as I can dressed in nothing more, nor did I insist on retrieving my dress to put over my wet bikini. But as we circled the pool area to head out onto the connecting road, I did notice that Ned and Liddy were missing from the circle of people around the area we'd established as our base for the day. Maybe they were swimming, but I couldn't help but assume they had taken the chance for some private time back in the unit.

I may have regretted not at least putting on the thongs (flip flops to foreigners) that would have protected my feet from the hot concrete, but there was enough of a grass verge for most of the walk to let us escape the worst of the effect of it. Half way up the hill, Ian took my hand and sidled up closer to me. I neither resisted nor pulled further away from him, but nor did I pull my hand across to let the back of his rest against my crotch as I would with Ned.

We were just cresting the top of the hill when I got the first indication of a phenomenon that I instantly knew was going to severely complicate whatever might follow with Ian; even if it was nothing more than a guided tour.

I felt my body being penetrated by Ned and responding in every way like that's exactly what was happening. It's something that just happens sometimes when he's making out with Liddy. Most of the time it's subtle; just the slightest suggestion of penetration and arousal. Just occasionally -- very rarely really - it's full on; like I'm under him and reacting in every way like he's doing to me whatever he's doing to Liddy.

There's something about this trip that has swung the pendulum to full on. On the first day, as we went to breakfast with some of the others, I had to drop them at the café and drive the golf buggy as fast as I dared to the privacy of the yacht to let me scream out into the bunk the orgasm I felt building as I lay face down writhing in climatic ecstasy.

Why or how it happens, I can't explain. Some sort of weird psychic connection with Ned is the best I can do; like identical twins might have between them, but in this case driven by our strong emotional bond. And that's from a sceptic about psychic phenomenon.

The thing is, it's not logical. I'm not feeling what Ned is feeling. I'm feeling what I'd feel if he was doing to me what he's doing to Liddy. Does that mean my connection is with Liddy? I don't think it can be. I just don't have the sort of bond with Liddy that I do with Ned.